CHAPTER IX
THE LETTING OF NUMBER SIX
I
"An' what am I to do if there's an air-raid?" demanded Mrs. Bindle.
Bindle deliberately emptied his coffee-cup, replaced it in its saucer,sat back further in his chair as a sign of repletion, then turned toMrs. Bindle, who had been watching him with angry eyes.
"Well, there's always Gawd an' Mr. Gupperduck, Mrs. B.," he remarked,with the air of a man suggesting an unfailing source of inspiration.
"You always was a scoffer, you with your black 'eart." Mrs. Bindle'sire was rising, and her diction in consequence losing something of itscustomary precision. "You know I ain't strong and--and 'ow them gunsan' bombs frighten me." There was in Mrs. Bindle's voice a note ofentreaty.
"A daughter o' the Lord didn't ought to be afraid of an 'Un; besides,you can go round an' 'old 'Earty's 'and. 'E's a rare ole 'ero whenthere's guns goin' off."
"I knew I shouldn't get any sympathy from you," complained Mrs.Bindle, rising and proceeding to bang away the breakfast things. WhenMrs. Bindle was suffering from any great stress of emotion, sheexpressed her feelings by the noise she made. Ironing gave her thegreatest opportunities. She could bang the iron on the ironing-board,back again to the stand, and finally on to the stove.
"I got to earn a livin'," remarked Bindle philosophically as heproceeded to light his pipe. "It's war-time too, an' nobody can'tafford to move, so pore ole Joe 'as to take any ole job 'e can get'old of."
"You lorst your last job a-purpose," snapped Mrs. Bindle.
Bindle looked at her sharply. Sometimes Mrs. Bindle's accuracy inthings where she could not possibly possess knowledge was startling.Bindle had temporarily relinquished his situation in the RemovalDepartment of Harridge's Stores in order to become caretaker at FulhamSquare Mansions whilst his intimate, Charlie Hart, had a fortnight'sholiday.
Mrs. Hart had been ill, and the doctor said that change of air andscene were essential to her recovery. She could not go alone, and ifMr. Hart went with her and a substitute were obtained, he would in allprobability, as Charlie put it, "pinch my bloomin' job." Bindle heknew he could trust, and so it came about that for a fortnight Bindlewas to "sleep out."
"Well, you see," Bindle explained, "I couldn't disappoint oleCharlie----"
"And what about me?" demanded Mrs. Bindle, looking round from a fierceattack upon the kitchen stove with the poker.
"Well," said Bindle slowly, "you're a disappointed woman as it is,Mrs. B., so you ain't 'urt."
Mrs. Bindle resumed her attack upon the fire with increased vigour.
"You always was a selfish beast, Bindle," she retorted. "You'll besorry when I'm dead."
Any reference by Mrs. Bindle to the remorse that he would suffer afterher death, Bindle always regarded as a sort of "take cover" signal.Mrs. Bindle was hysterical, and Bindle liked to be well out of the waybefore the storm broke. He had heard, but had never had an opportunityof testing the statement, that without an audience dogs will not fightand women will never have hysterics.
When, therefore, Mrs. Bindle referred to what Bindle widower wouldsuffer on account of what Bindle benedict had neglected to do, herose, picking up the faded blue-and-white cricket-cap he invariablywore, and walked towards the door.
"There'll be a lot o' tips, ole Charlie says," he remarked, "an' I'llbuy you somethink. I'll run in every day to see you ain't gone offwith 'Guppy.'"
"You're a dirty-minded beast, Bindle," raged Mrs. Bindle; but herwords beat up against the back door, through which Bindle hadvanished. He had become a master of strategical retreat.
Whistling shrilly, he proceeded along the Fulham Road in the directionof Fulham Square Mansions. Bindle was in a happy frame of mind. Itwould be strange if a fortnight as porter at Fulham Square Mansionsdid not produce something in the way of a diversion.
"Cheer-o, uncle!" The remark came from a brazen-faced girl waiting fora bus.
Bindle frowned as he looked her up and down, from the low-cuttransparent blouse to the short skirt, reaching little below herknees.
"If I _was_ your uncle, young woman," he remarked, "I'd slap you intobecomin' decent."
The girl jumped on to a bus that had just drawn up, and with a swirlof skirt and wealth of limb, waved her hand as she climbed the stairs.
"So long, old dear!" she cried.
"Got enough powder on 'er face to whitewash 'er feet," remarked aworkman to Bindle as he resumed his walk.
"Women is funny things," responded Bindle. "They never seems to bewearin' so little, but wot they can't leave orf a bit more."
"You're right, mate," replied the man when he had digested the remark."If I was the police I'd run 'em in."
"Well," said Bindle philosophically, "there is some wot likes to seeall the goods in the window. S'long!" and he turned off the FulhamRoad, leaving the workman to pursue his journey puzzling over Bindle'senigmatical utterance.
"'Ullo, Charlie!" greeted Bindle, as he entered the porter's lodge ofFulham Square Mansions. "'Ere I am, come to take care of all thelittle birds in the nest wot you're a-leavin' behind."
Charlie Hart was a big man with a heavy moustache, a brow whereon thecreases of worry had a perpetual abiding-place, and an indeterminatechin. "Charlie ought to wear a beard," was Bindle's verdict.
"Glad you come, Joe. I'll 'ave time to go over things again. Traindon't go till four."
During the next few hours Bindle was once more taken over the salientfeatures of the life of a porter at a block of residential flats.Charlie Hart had no system or order in conveying his instructions, andBindle saw that he would have to depend upon his own wits to meet suchcrises as arose.
Mrs. Sedge, Mrs. Hart's mother, would look after those tenants who didnot possess servants.
"She's all right when she ain't after 'Royal Richard,'" explainedCharlie Hart.
"An' who's Royal Richard?" enquired Bindle with interest.
"Gin!" was Charlie Hart's laconic response.
Charlie enumerated the numbers of the flats, the occupants of whichwere to be "done for." One thing he particularly emphasised, NumberSix was temporarily vacant. The owner was away; but it was letfurnished from the following Monday to a Miss Cissie Boye, who was oneof those to be "done for." Bindle was particularly cautioned to seethat there were no "carryings on," whereat he winked reassuringly.
Mrs. Sedge was a stolid matron, whose outlook on life had reached thedregs of pessimism.
"Oh! don't ask me," was the phrase with which she warded off anyattempt at conversation. Hers was a soul dedicated to Royal Richardand silence.
"Cheery little thing," was Bindle's summing up of the gloomy Mrs.Sedge.
Bindle had not been in charge an hour before Number Seven began to gettroublesome. He was a choleric ex-Indian civil servant.
"Where's that damned fellow Hart?" he roared, thrusting his head intothe porter's lodge.
"'E's gone to the damned seaside," replied Bindle imperturbably, as heproceeded to light his pipe with elaborate calm. "Taken 'is damnedwife with 'im," he added.
Number Seven gasped.
"And who the devil are you?" he demanded.
"Well," replied Bindle with a grin, "on the 'Alls I'm Little Tich; but'ere I calls myself Joe Bindle, known as ''Oly Joe.'"
For a moment Number Seven, his customary redness of face transformedto purple, stood regarding Bindle fiercely.
"Then be damned to you!" he burst out, and turning on his heel, dashedupstairs.
"I ain't lived with Mrs. B. nineteen years without learnin' 'ow to'andle explosives," remarked Bindle as he settled down to read anevening newspaper he had discovered in the letter box.
Bindle soon discovered that the life of a porter at residential flatsis strangely lacking in repose. Everybody seemed either to wantsomething sent up, or came to complain that their instructions had notbeen carried out.
The day passed with amazing rapidity. At eight o'clock Bindle steppedround to The Ancient Earl for a glass of beer. When he returned atni
ne-thirty he found his room in a state of siege.
"Oh, here he is!" said someone. Bindle smiled happily.
"Where the devil have you been?" demanded Number Seven angrily.
Bindle looked at him steadily. Having apparently established NumberSeven's identity to his entire satisfaction, he spoke.
"Now look 'ere, sir, this is the second time to-day I've 'ad to speakto you about your language. This ain't a peace-meetin'. You speakin'like that before ladies too. I'm surprised at you, I am really. Now'op it an' learn some nice words, an' then come back an' beg prettily,an' p'raps I'll give you a bit o' cake."
"You damned insolent fellow!" thundered Number Seven, "I'll reportyou, I'll----"
"Look 'ere," remarked Bindle tranquilly, "if you ain't gone by thetime I've finished lightin' this pipe,"--he struck a matchdeliberately,--"I'll 'oof it myself, an' then who'll fetch up all thecoals in the mornin'?"
This master-stroke of strategy turned public opinion dead againstNumber Seven, who retired amidst a murmur of disapproving voices.
"It's 'ard if I can't go out to see a dyin' wife an' child, without'im a-comin' usin' 'ot words like that," grumbled Bindle, as heproceeded to investigate the cases of the other tenants and theirminions.
Number One was expecting a parcel. Had it arrived?
No, it had not, but Bindle would not rest until it did.
Number Twelve, a tall, melancholy-visaged man, had lost Fluffles.Where did Bindle think she was?
"P'raps she's taken up with another cove, sir," suggested Bindlesympathetically. "You never knows where you are with women."
The maid from Number Fifteen giggled.
Number Twelve explained in a weary tone that Fluffles was a Pekinesespaniel.
"A dog, you say, sir," cried Bindle, "why didn't you say so before? Imight 'ave advertised for--well, well, I'll keep a look out."
"Wot's that?" he enquired of the maid from Number Eight. "No coal?Can't fetch coal up after six o'clock. That's the rules," he addedwith decision.
"But we must have some, we can't go to bed without coal," snapped thegirl, an undersized, shrewish little creature.
"Well, Queenie," responded Bindle imperturbably, "you'll 'ave to takesome firewood to bed with you, if you wants company; coal you don'tget to-night. Wot about a log?"
"My name's not 'Queenie,'" snapped the girl.
"Ain't it now," remarked Bindle; "shows your father and mother 'adn'tan eye for the right thing, don't it?"
"I tell you we must have coal," persisted the girl.
"Now look 'ere, Queenie, my dear, a gal as wants to take coal to bedwith 'er ain't--well, she ain't respectable. Now orf you goes like agood gal."
"It's in case of raids, you saucy 'ound!" screeched "Queenie." "I'llget even with you yet, you red-nosed little bounder! I'll pay you!"
"Funny where they learns it all," remarked Bindle to Number Eleven, aquiet little old lady who wanted a postage stamp.
The little lady smiled.
"She won't be wantin' coal in the next world if she goes on like that,will she, mum?" said Bindle as he handed her the stamp.
"Her mistress has a weak heart," ventured Number Eleven, "and duringthe raids she shivers so----"
"Now ain't that jest like a woman, beggin' your pardon, mum. Whydidn't Queenie say that instead of showin' 'ow bad she's been broughtup? Right-o! I'll take her up some coal."
Ten minutes later Bindle surprised "Queenie" by appearing at the doorof Number Eight with a pailful of coal. She stared at him in surprise.Bindle grinned.
"'Ere you are, Queenie," he said cheerfully. "Now you'll be able to goto sleep with a bit in each 'and, an' maybe there'll be a bit over toput in your mouth."
"Look 'ere, don't you go callin' me 'Queenie'; that ain't my name, sothere," and the girl banged the door in his face.
"She'll grow up jest like Mrs. B.," murmured Bindle, as he slowlydescended the stairs, "an' p'raps she can't even cook. I wonder ifshe's religious. Sort o' zoo this 'ere little 'ole. Shouldn't besurprised if things was to 'appen before Ole Charlie gets 'ome again!"and Bindle returned to his lodge, where, removing his boots andthrowing off his coat, he lay down on the couch that served as a bedfor the porter at Fulham Square Mansions.
During the next two days Bindle discovered that his duties wereendless. Everybody seemed to want something, or have some complaint tomake. He was expected to be always at his post, night and day, and ifhe were not, he was threatened with a possible complaint to theSecretary of the Company to which the flats belonged.
Bindle's fertile brain, however, was not long in devising a means ofrelieving the monotony without compromising "pore Ole Charlie." Hesent home for his special constable's uniform, although he hadobtained a fortnight's leave on account of his work. Henceforth,whenever he required relaxation, he donned his official garb, which hefound a sure defence against all complaints.
"Well, Queenie," he remarked one evening to the maid at Number Eight,"I'm orf to catch the robbers wot might carry you away."
"I can see you catchin' a man," snorted the girl scornfully.
"Sorry I can't return the compliment, little love-bird," retortedBindle. "S'long!"
"Queenie" had found her match.
II
"You--er--have a furnished--er--flat to let."
Bindle looked up from the paper he was reading.
A timid, mouse-like little man with side-whiskers and a deprecatingmanner stood on the threshold.
"Come in, sir," said Bindle heartily; "but I'm afraid it's let."
"But the board's up," replied the applicant.
Bindle rose, walked to the outer door, and there saw the notice-boardannouncing that a furnished-flat was to let.
"Funny me not noticin' that," he murmured to himself, as he returnedto the porter's lodge.
"Was you wantin' it for long, sir?" he enquired.
"A month, I think," was the reply; "but three weeks----"
"I'm sorry, sir," began Bindle, then he smacked his leg with suchsuddenness that the stranger started back in alarm, his soft felt hatfalling from his head and hanging behind him attached to a hat-guard.
"Now isn't that jest like me!" cried Bindle, his face wreathed insmiles.
The stranger eyed Bindle nervously, as he fumbled to retrieve his losthead-gear, looking like a dog endeavouring to ascertain if he stillpossessed a tail.
"I was thinkin' of the other one," said Bindle. "Yes; there's NumberSix to let from next Monday."
"What is the rent?" enquired the caller.
Bindle, who had no idea of the rent of furnished flats, decided totemporise. "I'll go and ask, sir," he said. "Wot was you exactlywantin', an' about wot figure?"
"Well, a bedroom, bath-room, sitting-room, kitchen and attendance,would do," was the reply. "I do not want to pay more than three and ahalf guineas a week."
"Now ain't that funny!" cried Bindle, and without waiting to explainwhat was funny, he picked up the key of Number Six from his desk. "Nowyou jest come with me, sir, an' I'll show you the very place you'rewantin'."
Number Six consisted of two bedrooms, a sitting-room, bath-room andkitchen. Charlie Hart had taken Bindle over it, explaining that MissCissie Boye, who was entering into occupation on the following Monday,would use only the smaller bedroom with the single bed, therefore thedouble-bedded room was to remain locked.
The applicant, who introduced himself as Mr. Jabez Stiffson, expressedhimself as quite satisfied with all he saw, and agreed to enter intopossession on the following Monday afternoon, at a rental of three anda half guineas a week. He appeared mildly surprised at Bindle waivingthe question of references and a deposit; but agreed that the smallerbedroom should be kept locked, as containing the owner's personalpossessions. Mrs. Stiffson, he explained, was staying with friends inthe country, their own house being let; but she would join him on theTuesday morning.
In the privacy of his own apartment, Bindle rubbed his hands withglee. "If this ain't goin' to be a little story for the Night Club,"he mu
rmured, "well, put me down as a Cuthbert."
He persuaded Mrs. Sedge to get both rooms ready, "in case ofaccidents," as he expressed it. Bindle foresaw that there might besome difficulty in the matter of catering for Mr. Jabez Stiffson; buthe left that to the inspiration of the moment.
He looked forward to Monday as a schoolboy looks forward to the summerholidays. He forgot to rebuke "Queenie" when she became impertinent,he allowed Number Seven to swear with impunity, and he even forgot todon his special's uniform and go "on duty"; in short, he forgoteverything save the all-absorbing topic of Miss Cissie Boye and Mr.Jabez Stiffson.
On Monday, Mrs. Sedge was persuaded to take a half day off. Sheannounced her intention of putting some flowers on her husband's gravein Kilburn Cemetery.
"Well," remarked Bindle, who knew that Mrs. Sedge's "Kilburn Cemetery"was the public-bar of The Ancient Earl, "you won't want no bus fares."
"You go hon, with a nose like that," retorted Mrs. Sedge, in no waydispleased.
"Well, don't be late in the morning," grinned Bindle.
At six-thirty, Mr. Jabez Stiffson arrived with a bewilderingcollection of impedimenta, ranging from a canary in a cage to athermos flask.
Bindle put all he could in the double-bedded room, the rest he managedto store in the kitchen. A slight difficulty arose over the canary,Mr. Stiffson suggested the dining-room.
"Wouldn't 'e sort o' feel lonely without seein' you when 'e opened 'islittle eyes?" questioned Bindle solicitously. "A cove I knew once 'ada canary which 'ad a fit through bein' lonely, and they 'ad to throwwater over 'im to bring 'im to, an' then wot d'you think, sir?"
Mr. Stiffson shook his head in mournful foreboding.
"'E come to a sparrow, 'e did really, sir."
That settled the canary, who slept with Mr. Stiffson.
It was nearly eight before Mr. Stiffson was settled, and he announcedhis intention of going out to dine. At ten he was ready for bed,having implored Bindle to see that he was up by eight as Mrs. Stiffsonwould inevitably arrive at ten.
"I'm a very heavy sleeper," he announced, to Bindle's great relief."And my watch has stopped," he added; "some dirt must have got intothe works. If Mrs. Stiffson were to arrive before I was up----" He didnot venture to state what would be the probable consequence; but hismanner implied that Mrs. Stiffson was a being of whom he stood ingreat awe.
Just as Bindle was leaving him for the night, Mr. Stiffson called himback.
"Porter, I'm worried about Oscar." Bindle noticed that Mr. Stiffson'shands were moving nervously.
"Are you really, sir?" enquired Bindle, wondering who Oscar might be.
"The bird, you know," continued Mr. Stiffson, answering Bindle'sunuttered question. "You--you don't think it will be unhygienic forhim to sleep with me?"
"Sure of it, sir," replied Bindle, entirely at a loss as to Mr.Stiffson's meaning.
Mr. Stiffson sighed his relief and bade Bindle good night, with afinal exhortation as to waking him at eight. "You know," he added, "Ialways sleep through air-raids."
Mr. Stiffson's bugbear in life was lest he should over-sleep. Heseldom failed to wake of his own accord; but, constitutionally lackingin self-reliance, he felt that at any moment he might commit theunpardonable sin of over-sleeping.
Bindle returned to his room to await the arrival of Miss Cissie Boye.
It was nearly midnight when his alert ear caught the sound of a taxidrawing up outside. As he opened the outer door, Miss Cissie Boyeappeared at the top of the stone-steps.
Bindle caught a glimpse of a dainty little creature in a longtravelling coat with fur at the collar, cuffs and round the bottom, asmall travelling hat and a thick veil.
"Oh, can you help with my luggage?" she cried.
"Right-o, miss! You go in there and sit by the fire. We'll 'ave thingsright in a jiffy;" and Bindle proceeded to tackle Miss Boye's luggage,which consisted of a large dress-basket, a suit-case and a bundle ofrugs and umbrellas. When these had been placed in the hall, and thetaxi-man paid, Bindle went into his lodge.
Miss Boye was sitting before the fire, her coat thrown open and herveil thrown back. Between her dainty fingers she held a cigarette.
"So that's that!" she cried. "I'm so tired, Mr. Porter."
Bindle regarded her with admiration. Honey-coloured, fluffy hair, blueeyes, dark eyebrows and lashes, pretty, petite features, and a mannerthat suggested half baby, half woman-of-the-world,--Bindle found herwholly alluring.
"I'm afraid we can't get that little picnic 'amper of yours upstairsto-night, miss," he remarked.
Miss Boye laughed. "Isn't it huge?" she cried. "It needn't go up tillthe morning. I've all I want in the suit-case."
"You must 'ave a rare lot o' duds, miss," remarked Bindle.
"Duds?" interrogated Miss Boye.
"Clothes, miss," explained Bindle.
Miss Boye laughed lightly. Miss Boye laughed at everything.
"Now I must go to bed. I've got a 'call' to-morrow at eleven."
As they went upstairs, Bindle learnt quite a lot about Miss Boye,among other things that she was appearing in the revue at the RegentTheatre known as "Kiss Me Quick," that she never ate suppers, that shetook a warm bath every morning, and liked coffee, bacon and eggs andstrawberry jam for breakfast.
"You'll be very quiet, miss, in the flat, won't you?" he whispered.
"Sure," replied Miss Boye.
"They're such a funny lot 'ere," he explained. "If a fly wakes up tooearly, or a bird 'as a nightmare, they comes down an' complains nextmornin'."
Miss Boye laughed.
"'Ush! miss, please," whispered Bindle as he switched on the electriclight in the hall of Number Six.
Bindle showed the new tenant the sitting-room, bathroom, kitchen, andfinally her own bedroom.
"You will be quiet, miss, won't you?" Bindle interrogated anxiously,"or you may wake Oscar?"
"Who's Oscar?" queried Miss Boye.
"You'll see 'im in the mornin', miss," replied Bindle with a grin."Good night, miss."
"Good night, Mr. Porter," smiled Miss Boye, and she closed the door.
"Now I wonder if anythink will 'appen before Ole Whiskers gets up inthe mornin'," mused Bindle as he descended the stairs to his room.